


pink roses for the couple at the back

by orphan_account



Series: a crown of flowers and redamancies [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Akaken Friendship, Albeit not a very good one, And most of Fukurodani actually, Everything works out in the end anyway, First-year Akaashi Keiji, Fluff, Kuroo is forced into becoming a wingman, Light Angst, M/M, POV Kuroo Tetsurou, Second-year Bokuto and Kuroo, So is Konoha, Yamamoto is mentioned for a split second, idk this is a mess, there's a vague plot in there somewhere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-01 15:59:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13298283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The first-year, who Kuroo assumed to be Akaashi, seemed to grow more dead inside as the two approached them, and Kuroo couldn’t help the smirk on his face as Fukurodani’s setter patted Akaashi’s shoulder and departed with a pitying, “Good luck, Akaashi-kun.”Akaashi barely looked at him as he dryly said, “Thank you, Uchido-san.”“AGHASHEE!”Kuroo briefly wondered if that was how Bokuto always pronounced his name, then snorted when he saw the first-year close his eyes and mutter a bitter, “Fuck you, Uchido-san.”alternatively: bokuaka is in love but in kuroo's point of view.





	pink roses for the couple at the back

**Author's Note:**

> oh man, i've wanted to write a bokuaka for so long, but i didn't expect to post the first self-indulgent one i wrote. have fun reading the product of my impaired decision-making skills lmao
> 
> kudos and comments, especially constructive criticism, are very much welcomed!

It had been exactly twenty-four minutes since Fukurodani’s Volleyball Club (and consequently Kuroo’s best bro in the world as of about ten months ago) had stepped foot in one of Nekoma’s gymnasiums, began doing some stretches and warm-ups, and waited patiently for the other two schools to show their faces— all the things a respectable volleyball team should do when they visited another school for a practice match.

Now, usually the only exception to their volleyball clubs’ unspoken ‘be on your best behaviour’ policy was one Bokuto Koutarou (and now possibly the new first-year with the mohawk), who was always the first to escape from the corner of the gym where Fukurodani huddled, so that he could sweep Kuroo into one of his infamous bone-crushing hugs and scream in his face.

It had been twenty-four minutes since Bokuto Koutarou walked into Nekoma’s gym, but all he’d done was hover around some dark-haired first-year and scream in _his_ face instead.

Kuroo wasn’t sure if he should've been offended.

He stood off to the side and observed them some more, watching the loud second-year as he followed his underclassman around, to the latter’s obvious chagrin, despite the fact that they were literally sitting beside their first-string setter. Who, by the look of it, wasn’t doing anything either. Which Kuroo found very strange, as Bokuto usually made it his goal to occupy any setter within a five kilometre radius of himself.

A handful of the Fukurodani second and third years were looking over at the pair with either fondness, amusement, exasperation, or some strange mix of all three, and Kuroo had to admit to himself that the image did elicit some of the former two in his little sappy heart. But, he refuted, mostly exasperation, because it had now been twenty-eight minutes, and the damned owl _still_ hadn’t said a word to him.

“Bokuto!” he yelled across the gym at the other second-year, deciding enough was enough when the wing-spiker attempted to pull the unimpressed first-year up by the arm. He tried to ignore Kenma’s flinch and the groans from the Nekoma third-years in favour of watching Bokuto stop and glance over his shoulder at him.

“Kuroo, my man!”

The poor first-year Bokuto was bothering looked up and shot Kuroo a grateful look when the grip on his arm was relinquished. Kuroo simply gave him a vaguely sinister grin before he was swept up into a bone-crushing hug. Oh, he missed the infamous Bokuto-hugs.

“Bo,” he choked out with a slight wheeze, “you’re going to crush my ribs.”

He only got a loud boom of laughter as a response, and all he could think was a wry, ‘ _I’m not kidding_ ’ as he felt his lungs collapse inwards, and then fill with a hefty breath of air when he was released and set down on a flat surface again.

“Thanks Bo,” he coughed at Bokuto, who began smacking his shoulder and yelling his trademark, “Hey hey hey!”

“How is my best bro doing? Got any good new players?” Bokuto asked with a sunny grin. And continued before Kuroo could answer. “We got like four first years maybe and they’re all pretty good— DID I TELL YOU ABOUT AKAASHI?”

The dark-haired first year, who had taken to conversing with the first-string Fukurodani setter, looked up with a grimace at Bokuto’s scream. Kuroo felt a little bad for the guy.

“I don’t think so?”

“I didn’t?”

“You haven’t really talked—”

“Well,” Bokuto interrupted, slinging an arm around Kuroo’s shoulders (and having to stand a little on his tip-toes, Kuroo noted with amusement), so he could drag the latter to where their setter and the first-year were seated. “Akaashi’s amazing. He’s great. You’ll get along with him, I promise. He’s the sassiest person I know other than you and Manyuda-senpai. Hell, he’s probably won like four bitch-offs with the guy.”

“Oho, is that so?”

“Yeah!”

The first-year, who Kuroo assumed to be Akaashi, seemed to grow more dead inside as the two approached them, and Kuroo couldn’t help the smirk on his face as Fukurodani’s setter patted Akaashi’s shoulder and departed with a pitying, “Good luck, Akaashi-kun.”

Akaashi barely looked at him as he dryly said, “Thank you, Uchido-san.”

“AGHASHEE!”

Kuroo briefly wondered if that was how Bokuto always pronounced his name, then snorted when he saw the first-year close his eyes and mutter a bitter, “Fuck you, Uchido-san.”

“Akaashi, that’s rude!” Bokuto chided.

“Of course it is,” Akaashi’s eyes flitted from Bokuto’s face to Kuroo’s own, and the dark, analytical stare gave Kuroo the impression that his entire worth as a human being was being scrutinized. He was just like Kenma, he realised with the faintest bit of terror. “Who’s this?”

“This is my best bro, Kuroo! He’s that awesome middle blocker I was telling you about!”

“I see.”

“Kuroo, this is Akaashi, our new setter!”

Well, now it made sense why Bokuto had decided to tail this first-year rather than their starting setter.

“Setter-to-be,” Akaashi corrected. He stood and bowed slightly to Kuroo. “Akaashi Keiji, first-year. It’s nice to meet you, Kuroo-san.”

“My, my, so polite,” Kuroo commented with a milder version of his usual provocative grin, but returned the gesture nonetheless. “Kuroo Tetsurou, second-year. Nice to meet you too.”

Bokuto clapped his hands together and beamed at them.

  
—

  
Akaashi Keiji, 180 centimetres of angles and unimpressed stares, with admittedly gorgeous eyes, and a well-tamed bedhead that could make anybody named Kuroo Tetsurou with a hair complex fall to their knees in envy, was a real pain in the ass.

So maybe it wasn’t really his fault that he actually had to be efficient at dealing with Bokuto when he was in one of his moods, but Kuroo still blamed him for being the reason why the Nekoma Boy’s Volleyball Club was currently carrying out a penalty while the overexcited owl got to run around screaming.

“Damnit,” Kuroo heaved out, collapsing against the wall beside Akaashi, who was doing some stretches. “How did you even manage to learn to deal with the guy in like what? A week?”

“He has taken to dragging me into his late practices,” Akaashi said blandly, straightening up before reaching down to touch his toes again. “It’s good bonding time, I suppose. It helps to know how to pull Bokuto-san to his full potential.”

Perhaps the slight pink that tinted Akaashi’s ears and cheeks were due to the set he’d just taken part in, but it didn’t stop a shit-eating grin from spreading across Kuroo’s face at the weak justification.

“Is that so? In just a week?”

Akaashi made a slight ‘tch’ sound as Kuroo leered at him.

The amused smirk on his face fell when Akaashi straightened again and looked sideways at him with a deadpan expression, “It seems to be paying off, in any case. We’re not the ones doing the penalties, are we?”

“Wow.”

  
“Your pretty first-year setter is an ass,” Kuroo later told Bokuto in passing, to which he received various indignant squawks varying from, “He is not an ass!” to “And keep your dirty cat paws away from Akaashi!”

  
—

  
At first, Kuroo didn’t mind the two as they did their cute, cuddly, somewhat messy, pining thing, but after seven practice matches and five weeks into the school year, it was becoming just a little painful to think about.

There had already been three instances where the three of them had a day out, with the addition of Kenma during their most recent one, and if they were disgusting to watch during their practice matches, they were even worse when there was nobody around to endure their little lovefest except for poor little Kuroo, who couldn't even say anything because he was supposed to be Bokuto's best bro.

He said as much during one of his embarrassingly whiny rants to Kenma, who only offered a shrug and an apathetic, “They’re not even that bad. You’re only mad because Keiji managed to shut you up the first day you met him.”

“Okay, fuck you both honestly.”

“Keiji is nice. I like Keiji.”

“Of course you do.”

  
—

  
“He’s just . . . So funny? Like, he’s so serious and polite sometimes, but then he gets really snarky but he’s still all serious and polite, and I don’t know, it’s just really funny to watch. Especially when it’s with Manyuda-senpai.”

“I think you’ve mentioned that several times today.”

“He’s so pretty, too. And cute. The cutest thing ever.”

“Why are you like this.”

“I’m in love.”

“For fuck’s sake.”

  
—

  
Bokuto wouldn’t stop moving.

He kept tugging at his jacket, tapping a finger against the edge of the table, fidgeting with his chopsticks, and would not stop looking over at Akaashi, who was preoccupied with listening to Kenma quietly fangirl about the art on a video game he had gotten about two weeks ago. If Kuroo wasn’t already used to Bokuto’s inability to sit still, he might have snapped ages ago. Even so, this was a little intense, even for Bokuto.

It was still hilarious though.

Kuroo guffawed as he munched on his karaage chicken, and Bokuto shot him a frustrated look, trying to subtly jab a finger in their direction. Kuroo simply ducked his head down, shoulders shaking in an effort to hold his laughter in when he saw the other second-year try to mouth something at him. He could almost hear the internal cry of frustration Bokuto had to be emitting.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” Bokuto declared suddenly, forcefully placing his chopsticks down beside his plate. The two setters didn’t even look up. He shot another look at Kuroo. “Kuroo, come with me!”

“Sure~” Kuroo grinned, standing up at the same time Bokuto did. “Akaashi, Kenma, look after our stuff.”

He barely heard their simultaneous, “Okay.” before being dragged in the general direction of the bathroom by the arm.

“Bro!” Bokuto hissed as soon as they entered the bathrooms. A cursory glance around the room was enough for Kuroo to determine there was nobody else with them. “Can’t you like, talk to Kenma for a minute?”

“He’s already told me everything he’s telling Akaashi now,” Kuroo said, still maintaining his shit-eating grin.

“That’s not what I meant!”

“That so? Then what exactly were you referring to?”

“You know what I mean! Just,” Bokuto gestured vaguely with his hands, then began tugging at his hair. “Do something? I came out here so I could spend more time with Akaashi!”

“Then why didn’t you just ask him out on a _daaaaaate—_ ”

Bokuto made a high-pitched noise and swatted at Kuroo. “Stop that! I’m not going to ask him out one-on-one! It’s too awkward!”

“But you’re asking for some one-on-one time right now,” Kuroo pointed out. “Which you would’ve gotten anyway, if you would just _ask him out properly_.”

“Kuroo!”

Kuroo conceded with a dramatic sigh, ducking to avoid Bokuto's increasingly animated gestures. “Yes, yes, give you two some alone time. Got it. Go seduce your piece of pretty setter ass or whatever.”

“Don't about Akaashi’s ass that way!”

“I— what?”

Bokuto had grabbed onto Kuroo’s arm and dragged him halfway out the door before he’d even registered the action, still mildly dumbstruck at Bokuto’s selective listening. He almost rammed his head against the doorway as he did so, and about four booths worth of people looked over at the choice expletives that were uttered.

Kuroo only just held himself back from physically assaulting Bokuto when he chided the middle-blocker for it.

Then the spiker was hissing a vague jumble of words in Kuroo’s ear as they approached their table, which Kuroo interpreted to be a demand to drag Kenma away from his quiet fangirling spiel. He sighed as he dropped into his previous seat.

“Kenma!” he whined, prodding at his best friend’s shoulder. “You haven’t even touched your food!”

“Ugh.”

Kuroo slung an arm around Kenma’s shoulders and pulled him to his side, ducking his head down and dropping his voice to a low whisper, “Bokuto requests some alone time with Akaashi.”

“But Keiji was interested in the second installment,” Kenma murmured, tapping away at his phone. "And you're not being very inconspicuous."

Kuroo heard Bokuto shout something, followed by Akaashi’s bemused, “Calm down, Bokuto-san, I’m eating.”

Both of the Nekoma players looked up at the other two, hardly surprised at the sight of Akaashi shovelling food into his mouth with pink ears, as Bokuto watched on with the most lovesick smile they had ever seen anyone wear.

So maybe they were sort of cute.

Kenma’s eyes flickered over to Kuroo. “Last week you were complaining about this.”

Kuroo shrugged helplessly, “Just eat your food.”

  
—

  
Before he knew it, the Interhigh tournament had arrived. And despite his team's valiant efforts and hard-fought battles, Nekoma didn’t make it to Nationals.

(The team definitely didn't mourn by crying manly tears and stuffing their faces with food.)

Fukurodani however, to nobody’s surprise, made it through, and Kuroo spent several days afterwards listening to Bokuto excitedly scream about Nationals over text. And despite the crushing loss he was experiencing, he found that he didn’t really mind Bokuto’s enthusiasm, only having to resort to calling Akaashi in two or three times.  
  
Kuroo vowed to himself that he would make it to Nationals when the Spring High came around.

  
—

  
Fukurodani suffered their first loss right before they could get to the semi-finals, after being pitted against Miyagi’s Shiratorizawa.

Which was fair enough, Kuroo thought, because Shiratorizawa was an unbelievable team this year, with their intense left-handed spiker.

It was obvious Bokuto didn’t feel the same way.

The Fukurodani second-year had immediately dragged Akaashi and Kuroo out to the cheapest ramen place they could find on short notice, and began eating his woes away. It would’ve been concerning, but again, Kuroo was used to Bokuto’s capricious behaviour by now and decided to just indulge him for the time being.

Unsurprisingly, Akaashi hardly looked affected.

“It wasn’t that astonishing,” the first-year said when Kuroo asked how he felt about it. “Shiratorizawa was powerful this year, and frankly, their win was to be expected.”

“What, with their Ushiwaka and everything, I’m not really surprised either.”

“Exactly.”

“And that’s why we lost!” Bokuto yelled suddenly, taking both Akaashi and Kuroo by surprise. The two looked at each other with raised eyebrows.

Akaashi sighed after a brief moment, “Go back to sulking, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto hunched over and turned his head to him with a slight snarl. “That’s not all I do, y’know? Trying, and losing, and then sulking.”

Kuroo grimaced slightly. With his emotions running so high, he probably should have expected such an outburst from Bokuto. “That’s not what he meant—”

“You know why we lost?” Bokuto continued, barely glancing at Kuroo’s attempt to intervene. “It’s because you all thought, ‘It’s that powerhouse, Shiratorizawa, with that incredible ace. We won’t stand a chance!’ None of you even tried!”

Kuroo could see Akaashi go rigid, the setter’s hands grasping his chopsticks so tightly that they looked like they were going to break.

Admittedly, Bokuto’s lack of brain-to-mouth-filter when he was emotional wasn’t something to be admired.

“Akaashi—”

“Is that what you think of your team?” Akaashi spoke quietly, effectively shutting up both of the second-years. His voice ordinarily would have been smothered by the clamour of the other patrons in the store, but instead resonated eerily clear in their little table of three. Kuroo thought it was terrifying. “Your team that trained their hearts out, fought their way to Nationals, and almost made it to the semi-finals. You think we all decided to give up just because we were playing against another powerhouse school?”

Bokuto only stared down at his bowl, hands balled into fists.

“Do I need to remind you who broke down at the most crucial part of our first set? Who was the one who decided that it was hopeless then?”

Their table grew silent as Akaashi glowered at Bokuto with dark, furious eyes. As if sensing the tension, a few others peered over at them with curiosity. Kuroo tried not to shrink under their scrutiny.

A waitress made her way over, nervously asking if everything was alright.

“It’s fine,” Akaashi said stiffly, gaze still fixed on Bokuto, who wouldn’t meet his eyes. He took out his wallet, counted out a number of coins, and stacked them beside his bowl before standing up and grabbing his bag and jacket. “I’ll be taking my leave now. Goodbye.”

As soon as the first-year setter exited the store, Bokuto’s head hit the space on their table beside his bowl. Akaashi’s neat pile of coins tipped over, and Kuroo could only rub his palm between Bokuto’s shoulder blades in hopes that it would provide some form of comfort.

“I’m the worst.”

Bokuto was peering up at him with red-rimmed eyes, welling with unshed tears, and it was clear that he was doing his best not to let them fall. Kuroo’s chest constricted, hurting for his friend.

“You’re not,” was the only thing he could think to say.

  
—

  
Kuroo didn’t hear from Bokuto for at least a week after the incident, and he was getting increasingly worried every passing day.

He knew Bokuto was still alive, from the daily texts he received from both the light-haired second-year on Bokuto’s team (Konoha, he reminded himself), and surprisingly, Akaashi. Anything other than whether or not Bokutp was alive, Kuroo was in the dark about.

He kind of hated it.

 

—

 

It was only after a week and a half after the incident that Bokuto texted him again, with nothing more than a, ‘ _can we meet up?_ ’

And even though Kuroo knew being an asshole to him wasn’t going to solve anything, he couldn’t help but reply with a bitter, ‘ _so now you want to talk to me??_ ’

When Bokuto didn’t respond in the next three minutes, Kuroo let out a sigh, flopping down across the length of the couch he was seated on, already feeling the first signs of regret scouring the pit of his stomach. From the couch across the room, Kenma looked up at him with furrowed eyebrows.

“Bokuto texted me again,” was the only explanation Kuroo supplied. Kenma only turned his attention back to his phone.

“Then talk to him.”

Kuroo sighed again, and typed out another message. Sometimes he felt like he deserved an award for being such a forgiving soul.

‘ _sorry bro, of course i can meet up. when and where?_ ’

  
—

  
“So . . .”

Kuroo raised his eyebrows at Bokuto as he took a seat across from the spiker. “So . . . ?”

“I told the team what I said,” Bokuto said slowly, nervously, intently watching Kuroo’s face for any sort of reaction. As if Kuroo was one of his team members he had vaguely insulted. “And apologised, of course.”

“And?”

“Most of them didn’t really care,” Bokuto scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “They were all, ‘That’s not the case at all!” and, ‘Have more faith in your teammates!’ but they didn’t really seem upset.”

Kuroo narrowed his eyes at him, “And Akaashi?”

Bokuto dropped his hand to his lap again, gaze following and dropping to his hands. “He didn’t say anything.”

Of course.

"What a prick," Kuroo made the mistake of saying aloud, and flinched when Bokuto shot him a nasty glare.

Kuroo cleared his throat, and tried again, unable to properly meet Bokuto's eyes.

“And you want me to help you out with that, don’t you?”

“Please!” Bokuto squeezed his eyes shut, hands clasped around Kuroo’s. “I’m sorry for not talking to you, but it really was because I was just moping and being sad! I didn’t really talk to anyone else either, I promise!”

Well, it wasn't like Kuroo was still hung up over that, but it was a nice sentiment nonetheless.

“Oh man,” Kuroo extracted his hands from Bokuto’s and shot him a grin as wide golden eyes peered at him. He indulged this guy way too much. “How could I say no to that face?”

  
—

  
Kuroo probably should have expected this.

This, being Bokuto’s ridiculous attempts at regaining Akaashi’s forgiveness.

Now, the attempts themselves weren’t really very unorthodox, most of them actually ending up being quite sweet. The only problem was, Bokuto seemed to be investing more time into wooing Akaashi, rather than trying to clear the air between them.

(With the amount of time, money, and effort Bokuto had invested into it, Kuroo found himself wondering why Akaashi hadn’t been sufficiently wooed yet.)

It was during a Fukurodani team intervention ( _“And Kuroo, because he’s my best bro!”_ ), that Kuroo found out what the rest of the involved parties thought about the situation.

“Dude, just talk to him about it,” said Konoha as he rolled over from one of his stretches.

“Akaashi-san didn’t seem that upset, Bokuto,” said a long-haired first-year as he wiped his face off. “I think he’s just waiting for you to properly apologise.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying!” said the libero with the short hair (Komi, Kuroo realised later). “Bokuto! Stop waxing poetry about his eyes and just talk to him one-on-one!”

“That was only once!” Bokuto tried to justify, almost smacking one of the other second-years in the face with his hazardous habit of flailing his arms.

“One time too many,” Kuroo heard a third-year mutter.

“Shut the hell up, Manyuda.”

Bokuto continued flailing, “And I can’t call him out one-on-one! It won’t end well, I just know it!”

“After the Pineapple Bush Incident, I think we all know that.”

“With all due respect, Manyuda-san, please shut up.”

Kuroo blinked, “Wait, what was the Pineapple Bush Incident?”

He could see Bokuto turn a bright red, and frankly, he was offended that he didn’t know about something that he could use as blatant blackmail. “It’s nothing you need to know about!”

“Hmph.”

“None of you are being helpful!” Bokuto wailed. “I called you guys out here so you could help me out!”

“You just told us to stay back for an extra hour, I don’t see how that was meant—”

“Bokuto, bro,” Kuroo placed a hand on the second-year’s shoulders, somehow managing to pacify the wing-spiker. Bokuto froze, prompting the other occupants in the gym to fall silent too, all of them giving Kuroo an expectant stare.

It was a little more dramatic than Kuroo would have liked, but it made for a very comedic effect.

“Bro?” Bokuto looked up at him with wide watery eyes, and Kuroo had to resist the urge to laugh.

“I think,” he said in his most solemn voice, and prepared himself to say what was possibly the silliest thing he would find himself saying that week. “You should talk to him one-on-one. Apologise to him. He’ll definitely see it as a sincere sign of remorse and he’ll surely forgive you.”

“Bro . . .” Bokuto whispered reverently. “That’s brilliant.”

Kuroo couldn’t help his smirk when half of the Fukurodani Boy’s Volleyball Club let out a groan, all of them resuming their cool-down routine.

“I give up.”

  
—

  
Bokuto leaned over to whisper in Kuroo’s ear, “You know the plan right?”

“Bo, I came up with the plan.”

“Oh right.”

The two second-years peered over to where Kenma and Akaashi were seated, both hunched over Kenma’s PSP. Kuroo could see his own setter softly muttering something, albeit with an unusual amount of passion in his expression, and he couldn't but help be a little proud at the sight.

“Well then, what are you waiting for?” Bokuto hissed in his ear, startling Kuroo out of his reverie. “Go! Go!”

Kuroo checked his phone. “I said I would give Kenma an hour. He actually does want to talk to Akaashi, you know?”

Bokuto groaned beside him. “How long is there left to go?”

“Eight minutes. Wait no, now it’s seven minutes.”

Bokuto’s head thumped against the surface of the table and Kuroo snickered.

“Hey, at least you’re getting the one-on-one time you’ve been asking for.”

“Urgh.”

“I’m done now,” a low, quiet voice interrupted the conversation. The second-years looked up to see Kenma standing by their table, hands stuffed in his pockets.

“Kenma!” Bokuto hissed. “You weren’t supposed to let him know we’re here!”

Kenma blinked. “Keiji saw you guys when you walked in. He figured out what you were doing right away, and I didn’t see any point in denying it.”

“Damnit Kenma,” Kuroo grinned. It wasn’t as if he didn’t expect this. Both setters were disturbingly perceptive after all. “Well then let’s leave the little owlets alone.”

Bokuto made a tiny screeching noise in his throat, looking just a little terrified.

“Keiji is waiting for you,” Kenma said to Bokuto dispassionately. “You shouldn’t keep him waiting.”

Kuroo patted Bokuto on the head as he began freaking out. “Good luck, bro.”

“Kuroo!” Bokuto seemed aghast. “Don’t leave me!”

Kuroo only stood up and grabbed his jacket in response, slinging an arm around Kenma. He waved to Bokuto over his shoulder. “Tell me how it goes~”

He snickered some more at Bokuto’s, “ _Bro!_ ” as he left the cafe.

  
—

 

“KUROO!”

Kuroo turned around at the sound of Bokuto yelling his name and braced himself when he saw said second-year sprinting down the pavement towards him.

“KUROO IT WORKED!”

“Great to know,” Kuroo wheezed, as 75 kilograms of teenage athlete tackled him to the ground. “Get the hell off me.”

“HE FORGIVES ME!” Bokuto cried, refusing to get the hell off Kuroo and instead throwing his arms around him in a hug.

“Nice. Can you let me get up?”

“Apparently what I said just hurt him because he had been training so much for the Interhigh!” Bokuto rambled without paying any heed to Kuroo. “Which makes sense you know, because he was only subbed in for half of the game, and he worked so hard to even get there in the first place. Kuroo, I feel so bad!”

Kuroo accepted his fate and patted Bokuto on the back.

“He even apologised for overreacting!” Bokuto seemed appalled at the notion, and began shaking Kuroo by the shoulders as he asked, “He wasn’t overreacting, right? His reaction was totally fair!”

“In his case, maybe,” Kuroo commented. “He probably got mad because it sounded like you were disregarding his efforts. And the team’s.”

Bokuto nodded sagely. “Exactly! I’m glad we got that sorted out though. I should have just talked to him in the first place!”

Kuroo pinched the bridge of his nose.

  
—

 

“You didn’t tell me this happened too,” Kuroo narrowed his eyes at the two seated across from him. “I wouldn’t have come if I knew I was going to be third-wheeling the whole time.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Akaashi said with his mouth full, tapping away at his phone and looking very comfortable in his position nestled against Bokuto’s side. Kuroo pulled a face of disgust as Bokuto fed the first-year another spoonful of rice. “Also, Kenma will be joining us in about four minutes, so you won’t have to worry.”

“Can you like, not talk with your mouth full?”

“Simultaneous communication and mastication can be considered multi-tasking.”

“That is disgusting.”

Akaashi’s bored eyes flickered up to him as Bokuto fed him some more rice, and didn’t bother saying anything else.

Bokuto beamed at them both, “I don’t even know what he said!”

“Ugh.”

“Talking and chewing, Bokuto-san.”

“Isn’t that supposed to be rude?”

Kuroo smirked when Akaashi’s eyes narrowed slightly at Bokuto. “See, even your boyfriend agrees with me.”

Akaashi blinked at Kuroo and resumed his usual deadpan expression. “It’s almost like you think I care.”

“Gah.”

Kenma silently slid into the booth the three of them were seated at, peering at the couple across from them. Kuroo instinctively slung an arm around the younger’s shoulders.

“Kenma,” Kuroo whined. “Akaashi’s being a little shit.”

“You’re just mad because Keiji probably out-bitched you again.”

“Correct,” Akaashi said, again with his mouth full.

“Look at him,” Kuroo violently gestured in Akaashi’s direction. “That’s disgusting.”

Usually, Kenma knew right away what he was talking about when he was complaining about something. So he must have been really unbothered by Akaashi’s lack of manners if he had to ask, “What is?”

Kuroo gaped and gestured at him some more. “He’s talking with his mouth full!”

Kenma tilted his head as a display of confusion. “And?”

“I can’t believe you.”

“If you’ve ever seen Keiji eat before, you’ll know that it would take him forever to finish his food if he had to stop eating to talk.”

“He eats like a pig!” Bokuto interjected cheerfully.

“That’s mean, Bokuto-san.”

“Sorry!”

Kuroo turned to Kenma again, appalled. “You hate it when people talk with their mouth full!”

“Exceptions exist.”

“What has Akaashi done to you?”

“Just because I don’t mind when Keiji does it, doesn’t mean you can do it too. At least Keiji eats cleanly.”

“I wasn’t even thinking of doing anything of the sort, thank you very much.”

“Sure you weren’t.”

" _Kenma_."

Akaashi only munched on his rice some more, watching Kuroo and Kenma bicker with his dark, analytical eyes.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> so that ending was an obvious premise for a kuroken fic that i may never write, but i didn't know how else to end it so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> i threw in so many hints of some lovely headcanons in here that i can't even keep track of them anymore. i will say this though: kenma totally calls akaashi by his first name. he literally, canonically calls everyone but kuroo by their first name, and he probably has a soft spot for nice, quiet, probably-as-done-with-life-as-he-is akaashi, so i mean,
> 
> and just for reference, the Pineapple Bush Incident was dubbed so when akaashi informed bokuto that pineapples, did not as a matter of fact, grow on trees. bokuto was affronted, tried to prove akaashi wrong by looking for 'pineapple trees' with him instead of looking that shit up on the internet like a normal person, and consequently managed to set fire and/or explode a row of pineapple bushes when akaashi was distracted. nobody knew how he did it, nobody except the volleyball club knows he did it, and kuroo will never know what the Pineapple Bush Incident was. (akaashi gave him shit for it for like a week probably.) i don't know how that even came to be, but it was two am and i thought it was funny so i just threw it in. 
> 
> (i feel like i should write a drabble just for it now,)
> 
> aside from that, i know this fic probably seems really rushed and inconsistent, and i'll probably take it down when my sanity returns to me, but if you have any feedback to give me regarding what you like or anything I could do to improve (this includes grammatical errors), please feel free to do so. thank you to anyone who even managed to get this far in this trainwreck.


End file.
